


Constant

by Unfeathered



Series: Constant [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21692155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unfeathered/pseuds/Unfeathered
Summary: Why did the Doctor really disable Jack's Vortex Manipulator?
Relationships: Tenth Doctor/Jack Harkness
Series: Constant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699834
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	Constant

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](https://unfeathered.livejournal.com/26925.html) on 25 September 2007. Beta'd by [becky_h](https://becky_h.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Reading back over this now (at the end of 2019), I feel like there are some parts of this I would have written differently if I were writing it now. Some stylistic differences I've developed over the last 12 years, some bits I would cut, some bits I would clarify.
> 
> But I don't feel it desperately needs that. It stands okay as it is and, while it's not the best thing I've ever written, I still like it and it still satisfies me emotionally, so I'm going to leave it as it is. :-)

Jack stands atop the Millennium Centre, gazing out over Cardiff, wishing the night was over. He doesn't sleep much any more; turns out the human body's need for sleep is greatly reduced after the first hundred years or so. Sometimes, like now, the nights just seem to go on forever.

What wouldn't he give to be able to time-travel again! Just to set the co-ordinates for morning, and skip the rest of the night entirely. The idea used to be as natural to him as breathing, back when he was young. He'd gotten used to life in the slow lane again, but then the Doctor gave him another taste of time-travel and linear life is harder to accept this time.

No short-cuts. No quick fixes. Just life, lived the hard way.

Damn Doctor. Always playing God. What right did he have to disable Jack's Vortex Manipulator? It wasn't as if it was _his_. All right, he'd made it work again, but it had been him abandoning Jack and forcing him to use it when partially exterminated that had burnt it out in the first place. If anything, the Doctor owed Jack the repair.

Not to mention the fact that the Doctor had kept his spare hand this time, selfish so-and-so. Of course, Jack doesn't need it as a Doctor-detector any more – he has Martha's mobile number and the Doctor has Martha's mobile – but he'd got used to having it around, a visible reminder of the Doctor when he needed one. He still has his TARDIS key, a tiny memento of his time with the Doctor (some of which he'd rather not have a memento of, thank you very much), but it's not the same.

And how ironic is it that Jack has a working TARDIS key, which is of no use here, but not a working Vortex Manipulator, which he could really use tonight?

There's a faint swishing noise somewhere behind him and his subconscious has identified it and started him turning before he's consciously heard it at all. He turns in time to see the beginnings of the slight haze associated with the sound, and he's running towards both as the noise intensifies. By the time he reaches it, the TARDIS is there.

It's barely materialised when the door is flung open and out steps the Doctor, still wearing the face Jack saw last – currently grinning widely. It's like a fairy godmother was listening, granting him a wish.

Jack vacillates fleetingly between the anger and frustration of moments ago and simple joy at this unexpected visit. Joy wins. He spreads his arms, feeling the Doctor's grin mirrored on his own face, and the Doctor takes two steps forward and joins him in a hug.

"Great timing, Doctor!"

"I know."

Huh? That's enough to make Jack hold the other man away from him so he can study the smug grin on his face. "What?"

The smugness fades a little. "We-ll. You told me you'd been moping tonight, that it was a hard night to get through. Thought the least I could do was come and cheer you up."

Jack's eyebrows shoot up and his arms drop to his sides. "You've been crossing our time-lines? _You?_ You of all people should know better, Doctor."

The Doctor looks a tiny bit uncomfortable. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to cause any problems. I checked. Honest!"

This incarnation of the Doctor is so disarming with his not-altogether-genuine openness and enthusiasm and big dark eyes. Jack feels himself relax almost against his will. "All right, then," he says, conceding the point. "So what happens now? If my future self has told you to come back here because it was a bad night, and presumably now it's not going to be a bad night because you're here… " Should he actually have admitted that? "Isn't that changing history? The history that's happening now, I mean?"

"Jack, Jack, Jack." The Doctor takes his arm and starts walking across the roof, Jack falling into step beside him. "I change history all the time. It's just knowing which bits to change and which bits not to. Bit of a talent, I suppose."

"And being a Time Lord probably helps," Jack quips with a slow smile.

"Doesn't hurt," the Doctor admits immodestly, grinning back – that mad, impish grin of his that always makes Jack's insides turn to goo.

Usually, he tries not to show it. But tonight – tonight he's tired and lonely and despondent and he has an unforeseen chance to avoid spending the rest of the night wishing it was over.

He stops walking, swings round, grasps the Doctor's head between his hands and kisses him thoroughly.

There's a second or two of surprised stillness from the Doctor. Then he starts to kiss back and Jack is suddenly aware of the fact that he's never kissed this Doctor, that the lips and the taste and the tongue – God, especially the tongue! – are different and new, and yet familiar, too, because it's the same person somewhere inside and this Doctor knows what Jack likes just as much as the old one did. And he hasn't had a hundred and forty years in which to forget, like Jack has. So Jack's at a distinct disadvantage as far as both memory and knowing his lover goes. Good thing he's gained lots of experience to make up for it.

Even so, it's the Doctor who takes control, just as he always did back then, before the Master, before the regeneration, before the forever-and-a-day wait. It's the Doctor who turns them round and reverses Jack along the several dozen paces they've just taken, back to the TARDIS. Jack knows where they're going – there isn't anywhere else to go up here – and lets himself be steered, but it's a bit of a surprise when he isn't guided through the still-open door but up against the other, closed one.

OK, so obviously the Doctor wants him up against a wall. And there's not exactly a lot of choice of walls up here.

Jack's not objecting. Being pushed up against a wall and leaned against as if to make sure he can't escape and kissed so hard it feels like his head's going to end up inside the TARDIS gives him a very welcome feeling of being wanted.

By the Doctor. Which, after all this time, is pretty outstanding.

Jack manages to pull – not back, because there's hard wood behind his head – but sideways to free his mouth for a moment, because there are some things that need clearing up before this goes too far. "So… I don't still feel 'wrong' to you, then?" he asks, rather breathlessly.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Jack, you know you don't," the Doctor says roughly. His hands are still on the shoulders of Jack's coat, pinning him against the TARDIS. "Would I have asked you to come along with me if you did?"

Jack knows that's the closest he's going to get to an apology for all the years of waiting – and he's accepted that by now. He smiles, and the Doctor, as always, smiles back.

"Offer's still open, if you want it," he says, eyebrows raised hopefully. "Any time. You know we could spend years adventuring together and still get you back again within minutes of leaving."

"Well, days, months or perhaps years – " Jack drawls, because he knows this TARDIS, and the Doctor laughs.

"Hey, she got me here tonight, didn't she?"

"Maybe she misses me," Jack grins. "Maybe she was trying harder!"

The Doctor just flicks an eyebrow up and down, with that sly, curly grin of his, as if implying that the TARDIS wasn't the only one who was missing Jack, and leans in to kiss Jack again. He's rougher this time, adding teeth into the mix, nipping at Jack's jaw and lips and tongue, and Jack melts against the door of the TARDIS, hands scrabbling at the Doctor's back to try and get him impossibly closer. The Doctor feels thinner than he used to – though he remembers being surprised at how skinny the old Doctor was the first time he saw him without his big leather jacket on. To be honest, this version isn't a hell of a lot skinnier. He just _feels_ thinner. Lighter. Less solid. Not as in not being real, just… as if he's harder to pin down. As if he never stays still long enough to really grab hold of.

Jack's grabbing now, hard as he can.

The Doctor, on the other hand, is trying to prise him away from the TARDIS long enough to get Jack's coat off. When Jack finally realises this, he reluctantly lets go of the Doctor and leans his shoulders forward to help. The minute his coat is off, it's the Doctor who shoves him back against the door, kissing him hard again, and Jack feels a ridiculous amount of joy well up at this evidence of the Doctor's desire. The Doctor is now tugging at Jack's braces, and Jack pulls back again enough to ask, "You want to do this _out here_?"

The Doctor gives him a grin of pure wickedness. "Doing it in the TARDIS is rather old hat, don't you think? And it's lovely out here, just you and me, high above the world, under the stars…"

"Isn't it a little – cold?"

The Doctor gives him a look that says, _Don't force me to make the point that it doesn't matter if you freeze to death_ and Jack subsides, shrugging, and lets his braces be pulled down. The Doctor then starts scrabbling at Jack's belt.

"You wear far too many clothes," he mutters as he works.

Jack's not letting that one go without a retort. "You can talk!"

"Well, yeah," the Doctor admits, with a glance down at his own coat and suit and tie. "But honestly, Jack – belt _and_ braces? Why?"

Jack just grins and declines to explain. The Doctor shakes his head, giving up, and turns his attention instead to getting Jack's belt undone and – finally! – opening his trousers.

Jack sucks in his breath as his cock is enveloped by a firm, cool hand. His own hands are flat against the wood of the TARDIS for support, his head and shoulders solidly against that same wood. Then there are teeth nibbling at his throat, and his shoulders come away from the door because that's the only way he can tip his head back to allow those teeth better access. The Doctor grins against his skin, and bites hard at the junction of Jack's neck and shoulder, and Jack winces while at the same time his hands fly to the back of the Doctor's head to press him in for more.

There's a pause, during which Jack remembers that the Doctor doesn't like being ordered around, even by Jack's hands, and he lets up on the pressure enough that he's just cradling the Doctor's head, not trying to control it. He likes the fact that this man has more hair than the one he used to know; it feels nice beneath his fingers. The Doctor makes a sound that might be a chuckle, and swipes with his tongue at the spot he just bit, and Jack bucks into his hand. "Doctor…"

That long, mobile tongue sweeps up Jack's neck to his jaw, and nips the muscle there. "Yes, Jack?"

The Doctor sounds far too composed. Jack growls. "You better be going somewhere with this!"

The Doctor chuckles again, dark eyes laughing into Jack's as he draws back briefly before leaning in towards the other side of Jack's face. "In a hurry, are you, Jack?" he asks, tongue swirling around the base of Jack's ear.

Jack's beyond words right now. His hands are against the wood again, his awareness alternating between the tongue at his neck and the long, narrow fingers wrapped around his cock. Doing his best to hold still, as if movement might shatter the moment and reveal that it's all just a dream.

He jumps when the Doctor slaps his bare hip to make him turn round. "Hey! You only had to ask!" he objects, obeying the implied command, nonetheless, because actually he's only too ready for the next step. He folds his arms against the TARDIS and rests his forehead on them as his trousers are pulled downwards till they slip, unaided, down to his ankles. Cool night air wafts against his ass, making him goose-pimple. The Doctor has stepped back for a moment, presumably to –

Yes. A cold, slick finger slides down the crack of Jack's ass, and presses into him. Jack lets it in with the ease of years of experience and doesn't turn his head when the Doctor moves round beside him and leans a shoulder against the TARDIS. He's a little ashamed of how desperate he feels, how much he wants this, and he doesn't feel up to meeting that penetrating gaze. The Doctor's still working his finger – no, fingers, now – in Jack's ass, a cold, twisting presence sending pleasure shooting up Jack's spine, but even so it comes as a surprise to Jack when the Doctor leans in and murmurs in his ear, "So hot, you are, like this, Jack. Make me want you so much – "

That makes him lift his head and look at the Doctor. "Could've had me, if you'd asked," he says pointedly, almost viciously, the resentment returning abruptly. He tries not to let the Doctor see the pain in his eyes but knows he's failed. "Any time during the last hundred and forty years, Doctor. All you had to do was come and find me."

"I know." There's pain in the Doctor's eyes too. "I just – I couldn't –" He trails off, and Jack knows he ought to feel sorry for him, or something, but he doesn't; he just feels angry. Damn Doctor, playing God and then running away and letting other people pick up the pieces. Like with Jack's fucking wrist computer.

"Why _did_ you disable this thing?" he asks, nodding at his wrist, wincing at the peevish tone of his voice, but unable to stop. "You could at least have left me short-range travel. A few hours, a few miles. Would have come in mighty handy."

The Doctor's eyes shift away from his. "I told you. You're my responsibility. And I don't want to have to keep coming to fish you out of trouble."

Jack feels like retorting that the Doctor's never come to fish him out of trouble yet, but he knows he's sounding childish enough already. How can the Doctor always reduce him to feeling like a child? Even now, when he's so much older than anyone else he knows, apart from the Doctor himself.

Instead, he says, "What does that even mean, that I'm your responsibility? You ran away from me! Abandoned me without a word, and then avoided me for over a century. Funny way of showing responsibility!"

OK, so that was actually a worse thing to say.

The Doctor flinches and this time Jack does feel repentant. "I'm sorry," he says softly, because one of them has to say it and there's no way the Doctor's ever going to. Not to Jack's face, anyway. Jack takes a deep breath and gives him a lopsided, rueful smile. "Start again?"

The Doctor's fingers have slipped out of Jack's ass, and Jack feels empty without them and would really like them back, please. What he gets, instead, is the Doctor's cock, swiftly released from its clothing and slammed into him without any more warning than that.

"Oh yes, with pleasure," the Doctor says, in that dark, roguish voice that sounds entirely too much like the Master's for comfort, but at this point Jack's beyond caring. He grunts as he's filled, arms spreading and fingers scrabbling for a purchase on the smooth wood. The cock's different too – a little wider, a little shorter, not quite what he'd imagined from such a tall, slim man – but he's not complaining. He gasps as said cock brushes against his prostate. Oh no. Not complaining at all.

* * *

It's not until afterwards, when they've slumped to the ground to sit close beside each other, backs propped up against the TARDIS, that Jack finally gets it.

"You disabled this thing because you wanted to know where to find me."

The Doctor nods, and looks at him, almost shyly. Possibly a little shamefaced. "Well. Yes. Two time-travellers, flitting here, there and everywhere. How on earth were we ever going to get hold of each other when we wanted to?"

"Well… there's Martha's phone."

"That's you getting in touch with me. I wanted to be able to get in touch with you. You're my constant, Jack. I need you to be my constant."

Jack doesn't know what to say to that. To have an actual admission of need from this man – in words, because the sex was an admission too – is more than he ever expected and it makes him ludicrously warm and mushy inside. The anger is gone, replaced by a certain amount of understanding, and acceptance. He just smiles, and the Doctor meets his eyes and smiles back, and they sit there for a minute grinning stupidly at each other.

Then the Doctor says, again, "Come with me, Jack. Please."

It's a better offer than the one he made before, after the Master. Jack had been almost sure he hadn't meant it then, not really. The Doctor had been grieving, frantic not to be alone, with the Master gone and Martha about to go, even if she hadn't announced it yet. Jack hadn't been certain the Doctor actually wanted _him_ as opposed to just _someone_.

But now… It's real. And it's tempting. It's just too soon.

Jack shakes head. "Sorry, Doctor, but I'm not ready yet. That year – what happened on the Valiant – it's too soon. I can't – " He swallows. "I can't go with you, can't face the possibility of – that – again. Not yet."

The Doctor opens his mouth and draws breath to speak, but Jack holds up a hand. "I know he's gone. The Master's gone. But – you still miss him. Don't you?"

He looks into the Doctor's eyes and the Doctor doesn't deny it, just looks back sadly.

Jack smiles apologetically. "And what he did to me… You can forgive him. I can't. I'm sorry. I need – " He sighs. "I need time."

The Doctor snorts softly. "And you've got plenty of that, old friend. All right. I get it. Just – " He pauses, and one thin hand comes up to stroke Jack's cheek, as if in farewell. "Just stay safe, Jack. For me?"

Jack laughs, a trifle bitterly, but he lets the Doctor see the warmth in his eyes. "Hey, I'm not going to go dying on you, Doctor! And I'm not going anywhere." He lifts his wrist enough to make the point. "You've made sure of that."

"Good," the Doctor says, and grins. "So I'll just pop back now and then for a bit of nooky, eh?"

"Yes, please," Jack agrees readily, relieved that his decision doesn't mean he has to do without his Doctor altogether.

"OK, then," says the Doctor and next moment he's on his feet, hands tucked into his pockets so his coat swirls out behind him in the early morning breeze. "Well, I'll be off, then. See you around, Jack."

Jack gets up and puts his own coat back on. He offers his hand and the Doctor shakes it firmly, then winks and turns to the TARDIS.

Jack moves back out of the way and watches the Doctor disappear inside, the door closing tightly behind him. He gazes at the TARDIS as she gears up and gradually grows fainter, the familiar sound lasting a few moments longer before fading away too.

Then he sighs deeply, and turns to stare out over the city – his city – as the sun rises on a new day.


End file.
